This paper really does seem essentially to acknowledge that all claims of "recovery" are not, in fact, about "recovery" as commonly understood--absence of symptoms, return to normal life, etc. This is a neat way to get around the problem that the interventions do not seem to lead to "recovery" for most people--just redefine it downward to mean "coping better with chronic illness." So sure, I can see why CBT might prove marginally helpful in that regard.
The 'CBT' I had consisted of the 'therapist' announcing "We won't get anywhere all the time you think what's wrong with you is physical!". The first thing she said. I hadn't had a chance to speak. The so called 'CBT' consisted of ham fisted psychotherapy and judgements. I was far too sick to travel to the hospital. She was just downright nasty, a psychiatrist. I tried for 2 sessions then didn't go anymore. She had her revenge. Her write up consisted of a 2 page diatribe of character assassination.
That was 1997, before the clinics. The neurologist who referred me for CBT, and the so called therapist, had clearly been influenced by the 'CBT for CFS' editorials and the research. It definitely was supposed to be CBT because the neurologist's report said that was what he was referring me for (I discovered that years later when I accessed my medical records).
The graded exercise consisted of 10 leg ups per leg (lying flat) and a floor exercise so complicated I couldn't remember it. The physio had the attitude of "Just do it". I didn't. I was far too sick for any of it. They had a horrible attitude.
What I needed was homecare. I was physically collapsing trying to shop for food, with shop staff calling an ambulance as I was virtually unconscious. The friend who had brought in food twice a week had moved to another part of the country at that point. I ended up calling out of a window to a neighbour to ask her if she could pick up some groceries if she was going shopping. Those years were hell on earth. I didn't know anything about ME and veered between being too sick to move or speak or dial the phone, gradually over weeks or months picking up a bit then crashing badly, not able to move or speak, needing an eye mask with sound sensitivity so bad that any kind of rustle was hell.
What I really needed was homecare and a shopping service.
I can't forget those sessions at the hospital (St Helier) though I want to. The neurologist was kindly but oblivious of how sick I was, the psychiatrist and physio were so stupid and horrible. And it was so devastating, because I had thought they would help me.